A Bit of Light Reading
by Penguin's Flight
Summary: If only people were as easy to read as books...
1. A Bit of Light Reading

July, 1992

Little Hermione sat crossed legged in the book shop, browsing through a particularly deserted section of shelf on advanced charms. She read through them in Flourish and Blotts, a little each time her parents would take her there. Of course, she had her own books, but nothing less than everything would ever truly satisfy her curiosity.

Two texts would describe a particular spell differently, and suddenly she needed to cross-reference with everything else out there. They'd found a muggle friendly coffee shop a little further down the Alley, and tended to sit there while she spent the morning going through the books. The white haired store owner smiled indulgently every time he saw her, listening to her incessant chatter with a kind smile on his face, knowing full well she bought enough to justify her extended stay in his shop.

Once in awhile she saw someone she knew. Like today. Lavender Brown stood off to her side, ranting about how dull the bookshop was. Her mother was a slight distance away, browsing the Health and Wellness aisle, looking at the latest tips for witches on how to keep that obscenely small waistline no human should have to strive for. It looked like she'd waylaid another woman, holding her own one sided conversation, although Hermione personally couldn't hear anything beyond Lavender's own asinine chatter. She did feel sorry for her schoolmate, if that was the reading material she was surrounded with on a daily.

"…and I mean, I don't know what you're doing here so often. These books are so boring, at least read some fiction once in awhile."

"It's not my fault you're too stupid to find these interesting." Hermione replied, barely cognizant that she was making a reply at all. Suddenly feeling her eyes widen. She hadn't meant to say it, it just sort of…came out.

"What did you say?" Lavender asked, her own eyes appallingly wide as she apparently wasn't stupid enough to let the comment slide.

A cough, concealing a laugh, somewhere nearby could be heard, which only added to Lavender's mortification. Before Hermione could reply with any attempt at a defence, the girl had spun on her heels and was rapidly speaking to her mother some distance away. By the glare in her direction, Hermione gathered that she'd been filled in on her less than well timed comment.

The man who'd laughed turned down the aisle, looking at her with no attempt to conceal amusement. "Some things are best left unsaid, no matter how much truth there may be to them." Hermione blushed. Gods she was so embarrassed.

Shaking his head, he walked away. Lucius Malfoy found it had been a truly long time since he'd witnessed a scene that entertaining in Diagon Alley. From a distance, he couldn't help but notice the childish antics of the two girls, one blabbering away at the second, who was clearly uninterested in hearing a word her acquaintance was saying. The mother, meanwhile, was harassing another one of the store's patrons in a similar manner. He could recollect the older woman from school, vaguely. He was quite certain she'd been intelligent, and if his wife's comments were anything to go by, the same could not be said of Mrs. Brown.

The pudgy woman he knew from school's thoughts were seemingly running in a similar direction to the little girl's, but she hadn't the nerve to voice them. The truth comes from the mouth of babes, they say. Shaking his head, he left the store with his purchase.

* * *

Seeing the obnoxious man from the bookshop again didn't shock Hermione. She'd seen him out and about in the Alley before. The wizarding community was not overly large, and there were some very recognizable figures. There were, for starters, the shop owners: Mr. Fortescue, Madam Malkins, Mr. Flourish, Mr. Ollivander. Then, there was a handful of regulars at the bookshop, the blond haired man amongst them. Some looked like the bookish sort, some, a little sketchier, poured over the dark arts section. She talked with a surprising amount of them, asking for recommendations in the sections they spent the most of their time in. She understood, on some fundamental level, that she didn't have time to read everything that was printed and published.

Hermione quickly found out a few facts including, but not limited to, the fact that Dark Arts fanatics did not like speaking to little girls, and that Arithmancy enthusiasts would talk over her head about the subject for hours if she let them.

An old lady who had a fascination with transfigurations was her favourite person. She'd taught the subject at Durmstrang, in Bulgaria, for most of her life, and nearing a hundred and seventy years old, still scoured bookshops in hopes of discovering rare texts on the subject. Madam Rowle was an excellent teacher, and although Professor McGonagall was good, this woman was better. As the summer went on, Sundays were slowly turning from her reading on her own, to the woman sitting with her teaching her spell theory and fundamentals.

Her parents heartily approved of the educational venture, and agreed to let her spend more time in Diagon Alley on the particular days when she met with the woman. It was precious time in which she tried to get as many answers to the questions she'd developed over the week as she could. It annoyed her then, when the obnoxious blond haired man interrupted her informal lesson to speak to the woman.

"Lucius, child, where's that son of yours?" she asked.

"Unfortunately, he does not show the same enthusiasm for books as this young lady does." the man replied, his piqued tone implying that this really did bother him.

"I told Narcissa she was spoiling him." the woman said primly, with all the authority of being an interfering matron who'd lived as long as she had.

Now the man rolled his eyes, "Yes, right before she threw you out of the Manor. You ought to know better than to tell a witch how to raise her child."

"Your child too, Lucius." Madam Rowle clucked. "Perhaps if you spent more time with him, and less time bullying people at the ministry..."

"It isn't my fault they're incompetents." he hissed.

It was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes, tired of being ignored and tired of not having her part in the conversation. "It's probably your own fault for being so unpleasant to work with." she said, quite primly.

"Very amusing." he drawled, turning back to Madam Rowle. "Have a pleasant day."

* * *

Finding out that Lucius—a.k.a. obnoxious blond man was Draco's father was hardly a surprise to Hermione. In fact, she berated herself for being so stupid as to not realize it immediately. That smug, disdainful look should have given it away if the hair hadn't. The whole Weasley-Malfoy-Potter confrontation left her rolling her eyes.

His own comment about her muggle parents, and attitude towards her was…hurtful, but expected. Certain students had made it perfectly clear where she stood in this world's hierarchy, prompting her to double her efforts at school. It filled her with satisfaction to answer a question before them, or beat them on an exam. Teach them for considering her a second class witch. Still though, having an adult, particularly one she'd interacted with before, reiterate that position was not easily brushed aside.

Lavender and mother saw her at a distance and sneered. She comforted herself that at least some people hated her purely because of her personality.

* * *

On the last Sunday before school, Hermione returned to the bookshop, eager to meet with Madam Rowle one last time before the start of term. She was disappointed, after waiting for nearly two hours, that the woman never showed up. Trying not to let her tears fall, she sat down by herself and tried to dig for her own answers. The wizarding world was stuck with her, regardless what it thought of her parents.

She was about to give up and go home when Mr Flourish approached her, shuffling across the floor and heavily leaning on his cane. In one hand, he carried a mug.

"Here, child," he said, handing her the cup of steaming hot chocolate, "I may never have been a Professor...but if you've got questions, I can try and answer..."

He was rewarded with the brightest smile he'd ever seen in his store.

* * *

July, 1993

She kept running into Draco Malfoy, of all people, skulking around the bookshop. She'd tried being rude, even full out mean, but he still kept talking to her. She tried to ignore him day after day as she practiced her spells in a corner of the store, at a small table Mr Flourish had put out for her sake, but he just kept coming back.

She wasn't even sure he was buying anything, just existing there to make her life miserable. This particular day, she was not having anything. Her parents had just told her they would be visiting her aunt for a week, and she would be stuck interacting with her muggle cousins who's favourite words for her were freak, and stuck-up bitch. Then, she'd found out her favourite muggle restaurant was closing, and finally, she'd stained her favourite jeans with her monthly gift all within the span of a few hours before coming to the Alley.

"Hi, Granger." Malfoy said, and he opened his mouth to say something else.

"What do you want Malfoy? Would you stop harassing me here? I get it, you're disappointed the Basilisk didn't kill me. It would have improved the school, the wizarding world, and your own self esteem not to be beat by me on an exam. Now, go away." she snapped.

He looked taken aback. She saw him swallow hard, and look away. "I didn't mean that." he said, his voice somewhat hoarse from something she didn't care to consider.

"Yes, you did. You and your father are set out to ruin my life, aren't you? First I deal with you and your friends' mudblood comments, then he finds a way to make sure Madam Rowle no longer speaks to me, and then sets something loose in the castle that tried to kill me. Now, every time I come here looking for some peace and quiet, you just appear! Leave me alone!"

She'd never seen a person that red, not even Ronald when his mother sent a Howler. With a jerky nod, Draco turned around and left the store. She felt a pang of guilt, before shaking it off. He'd never apologized for voicing the fact that he hoped she would die. She definitely had the right to be angry.

* * *

He was back again, the next week. This time he just sat down, avoiding eye contact at all costs and trying to read a book. He clearly wasn't interested, but she supposed his efforts counted for something. Part of her wanted to apologize for snapping at him the week before, but it was neither a particularly large, nor strong part of her. She was still waiting for any acknowledgement on his part of what a shit he'd been to her.

"Go away, Draco." she said, after he'd clearly given up reading.

"I can't." he answered, still not meeting her eyes.

"Why in Merlin's name not?" she hissed.

"I just can't."

"There's a hundred other hiding places in the Alley, this one is mine." she hissed.

"I don't care." he replied, glaring back at her.

"Why can't you go away?" she asked, half an hour later, finally giving up on being angry. Her curiosity was getting the better of her.

"It's none of your business, Mudblood." he replied between clenched teeth. Smacking her book down on the table, she stood up, walked to the shelf where she put it back, and left the store. Truly, she was starting to hate that entire family. She could only imagine Mummy Malfoy was as miserable a person as her husband and son.

* * *

Lucius walked into the bookstore, having exhausted every other possible place to look for his son. Stepping through the shelves, he heard the little brown haired girl's voice speaking. Only moments later, his own son's harsh answer caused him to pause. There hadn't been any malice in her question only resignation and curiosity. 'Mudblood', it wasn't a term one threw around in polite conversation within most spheres. Frankly, it was a word he'd warned his son not to bandy about, lest it result in any political repercussions on himself. He'd spent years keeping silent after the first war, doing nothing that might be interpreted as waiving the pureblood banner once again.

His wife, however, was very...set in her ways. Coming from a family even more fanatic than his own, she threw the word around as though it was nothing more than a casual name. She was an intelligent woman, but believed her ancestry gave her some sort of immunity to the whims of the masses. Lucius tended to agree, but he'd seen too many of his comrades from equally powerful families thrown in Azkaban to be quite so free with the term. He'd been let off on little more than a technicality. A weak lie, to anyone who considered any of the implications.

"Miss Granger," he said, as she made to storm out of the store past him. He grabbed her arm to keep her from ignoring him. She looked up, anger clouding everything else on her face.

"What?" she asked, pulling her arm out of his grip.

"I am sorry,"

"No, you aren't. You're sorry your political machinations might be affected by your son's crass behaviour, you're sorry there's suspicion surrounding you about the Basilisk being freed in Hogwarts—but you aren't sorry about anything I care about."

Lucius didn't have time to make a case for himself, but suddenly felt a surge of guilt in a way he hadn't in a long time. He found Draco sulking at a table, with a gesture the boy joined him and they walked out of the shop together. Draco didn't mention seeing Hermione, not wanting to deal with his father's biting comments surrounding whom he should associate with, and Lucius didn't mention the girl because there seemed to be no need to bring up something which led him to feel half as much guilt as that particular child did.

He'd mentioned her muggle parents to Madam Rowle, who was appalled to a degree that would have made dear Walburga proud. He'd tried to discredit Weasley, and managed to nearly kill a handful of children in the process. His wife was sleeping with Nott, and worse still was that everyone knew it. His own son apparently felt the need to hide in the bookstore of all places, accompanied by a muggle-born. What a year it had been.

* * *

Draco wasn't entirely certain why things had changed at home. His parents were both still the same, in essence. His mother smothering him in love and his father speaking very little to him. It was their interactions which were different.

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had never been the picture of domestic felicity. Despite this, they could occasionally be found chuckling at something the other had said, or exchanging casual comments about the weather. It was a very large house, and after the birth of their heir they were content conducting their affairs in separate wings of it, interacting primarily for their Draco's benefit.

It was colder now, though. Narcissa blamed Lucius for several of the hiccups she'd experienced within their circle recently, while Lucius rolled his eyes and told her that perhaps the reason Mrs. Parkinson and Mrs. Greengrass were distancing themselves was because they couldn't stand her caustic personality. It hadn't gone over particularly well, and Narcissa was looking for small ways to humiliate him. Not the least of which was flaunting her latest lover publicly.

He didn't give a damn who she took to her bed, he hadn't in many years, but according to an unspoken agreement, they'd always been discreet in their affairs. With the breach of that particular rule, their already strained relationship had taken a turn for the worse. In a particularly bitter retaliation, he made a point of escorting his own mistress past a group of Narcissa's friends in Diagon Alley, making sure it was blatantly obvious the nature of his relationship with the young witch. She preened at the thought that she was special, being the first he showed off. He left her a week later, not bothering to replace her. It wasn't worth the effort.

This left Draco in an uncomfortable position, even if his parents did their best to keep this ongoing war away from him. His friends all knew, Diagon Alley all knew. That bookshop and Granger's table was just about his only refuge. Mr Flourish was so stuck in his books he might have been the last adult in the wizarding world unaware of the Malfoy family drama, while Granger would have no reason to find out, what with her muggle parents. They didn't look at him pityingly, in fact, they didn't really look at him at all. It was almost nice.

He'd thought they'd come to some sort of truce…until her outburst. Realizing the extent to which she hated him did not sit well with him that first day. He'd fancied he might like her, she was just forbidden enough to be tempting. Luckily for him, it turned out though that she was not nearly pretty enough to keep his attention without some reciprocation on her part, and by the next week he'd made his peace with the situation. He was content to settle for bullying her away from the table.

* * *

Hermione refused to give up her table. The next time he called her 'Mudblood', she pulled out her wand, silenced him and was done with it. Nasty, spoiled little boy. She saw Madam Rowle once, who looked on at them sitting together with a deeply disapproving frown. In a rare, childish gesture Hermione stuck her tongue out at the woman when her back was turned. Draco let out a huff of laughter, and for a minute they were almost allies against the sour, bigoted old woman who'd been a friend to Hermione until discovering her 'unfortunate' background.

Regardless, Hermione couldn't but be sad for her. She was so set in her ways. Her mind so closed to anything that was different that an entire portion of the world was lost to her. A wonderful portion of it, no less. It was a reminder that the boy she was sitting with, and his horrible father, fit into the same category. She took a minute to pity them, too.

* * *

July, 1994

The bookshop was still her refuge. Her table had a nicer chair next to it now, and Mr Flourish had made a point of asking her if she approved of the upgrade. With a massive grin, she acknowledged she did. Most heartily.

Draco was still there once in a while, looking through potion books. It seemed like the boy had actually found an interest which didn't include bullying smaller students and jinxing people with their backs turned. She was proud of him. They exchanged a few surprisingly polite words about the weather, and once even ventured into the territory of potions.

Apparently Snape was teaching him, she'd teased him about remedial potions. He'd laughed and said they were decidedly not remedial potions lessons. They parted ways without a single derogatory comment. Progress. Hermione snorted at the thought, 'progress' implied there was some sort of a goal to be reached. There was decidedly not.

* * *

The Irish pride, that's what the noise outside the tent was attributed to until Mr Weasley's dramatic entrance. She would have said melodramatic, had the situation not been as serious as it was. Her first feelings stepping out of the tent was anger. How dare they, she wanted to scream. How dare they do this to her, to others, to defenceless muggles who'd done nothing wrong but be born without magic.

Seeing the cloaked figures approaching their direction, a cold fear settled in, replacing the anger in that particular moment. There would be time enough for it, but she realized then that she might just be running for her life if they caught up to her. They couldn't know she was muggle born though…although, thinking about it, she doubted they cared about blood status so much as they cared about power and domination. What better way to feel powerful than to prey on those who couldn't defend themselves.

Disgusting cowards was what they were, but still, she feared for her life. Hermione blinked back tears, rushing through the crowd with her friends, her disappointment at the wizarding world present with every step she took. How could something like this happen? She didn't know. It shouldn't, there was no reason.

Everything was hectic, she lost Harry, and tried sticking close to Ron, but no sooner did she turn her ankle did she lose him as well. She liked to think he'd been pulled away by the crowd looking for her, but the truth was she was quite sure he hadn't even noticed she was missing in time. The crowd was suffocating. She was getting bumped left and right by people pushing past her trying to get away. Looking for a safe spot to apparate. And damn it all, her ankle hurt. By some miracle, she managed to drag herself away from the rush, into the forest. She sat down at the base of a tree some distance in. Reaching forward, Hermione made an attempt to see what the damage was, assessing how far she could get on it. Frankly, she didn't think she could move another step. Her eyes jutted around, she wasn't quite far enough to be hidden, and her heart thumped rapidly in her chest at the thought of one of the cloaked figures burning tents in the distance and parading the campground the muggle owners, hanging by their ankles in the air.

She'd seen Draco earlier in the mess of things - he'd spouted some trash about Mudbloods, but she flattered herself he seemed to have been trying to warn her. She expected his father was out there with his Death Eater buddies, reminiscing about better days when they could slaughter mudbloods all day long. She hated the man to the core of her being in that moment. He was a face to put to the Death Eater movement. Someone tangible to direct her anger at, to direct her fear of dying under this tree, found by some psychopath who hated her without knowing a thing worth knowing about her.

She did see Lucius Malfoy moments later, and was surprised to note that it was without the hooded cloak and mask. "Get up, girl." he hissed at her, looking over his shoulder where Death Eaters were still attacking the camp.

"I can't." she replied, angry that he seemed angry. How dare he.

His eyes fell to the ankle she cradled, and shaking his head he kneeled down beside her and pulled the wand out of his snake headed walking sticks. With a muttered spell, she felt the pain vanish.

"It isn't healed, just numb. Get yourself somewhere safe."

Something about the comment irked her, even if she wasn't sure it should have. He'd helped her, sort of. "Where? Back in the crowd where I was almost trampled, or further in the woods where I'll, with any luck, be alone?"

With a few hissed curses under his breath, Lucius grabbed her arm, and then she felt like her body was being sucked through a tube, only to reform near a sea of red hair. Before she could make her way towards them, she felt her stomach heave. She threw up behind a bush, and was surprised that the man who'd apparated her seemed to be holding her hair back away from her face.

When the contents of her stomach were finally emptied, she looked up to see him carefully scanning the area. It didn't take half a second for him to realize she was finished recovering from her first apparition, and with a slight shove, he sent her in the direction of the Weasleys. Casting a glance at the area one last time, and waiting just long enough for Arthur to spot her, he apparated away from the disaster that the World Cup turned out to be.

* * *

He waited up in the drawing room for his wife to get home, something he hadn't done since the early days of their marriage. At the time, it had been out of some sense of duty and concern. Tonight, nothing but blind rage kept him awake. It was the final thread in their precarious union, she'd gone explicitly against his wishes and donned his own retired cloak and mask. Still just one more way to needle him, demean him within their acquaintance, and weaken his overall position.

"Where's mother?" Draco's voice drawled, looking around the sitting room where his father sat.

Lucius took another sip of firewhiskey. He didn't respond. What could he say? That the boy's mother was trying to avenge her beloved, deranged sister who'd tortured and killed for sport. That after barely surviving the first war, and miraculously pulling through without time in Azkaban, she felt it was her twisted duty to continue the Black family legacy of ridding the world of the 'mudblood problem'. That Narcissa Black Malfoy was beginning to seem as mad as Bellatrix?

Instead, he stood up, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. He looked at him, hoping that he would understand what was left unsaid. "Go to bed son, I'm glad you're safe."

"I'm a pureblood." he said, his voice dripping in arrogance, convinced it was enough.

"Hmm" Lucius replied, not wanting to disabuse his son of the notion. He was glad the boy lived in a time where he could believe something as absurd, frankly he hoped the boy was never confronted with reality. It was a hard pill to swallow. "Nonetheless, I'm glad you're safe. Goodnight."

Lucius decided not to wait for Narcissa. Some small part of him cried out in hope that she was captured by aurors. Truly, the only thing which kept him from marching her into the ministry himself was their son. To him, she was a caring mother. To him, she was a loving parent. He hoped Draco could keep that for longer.

* * *

January, 1995

She'd convinced twenty three people to donate to S.P.E.W., including Mr Flourish. He seemed entertained by her harassing his customers with her bit of activism. Even encouraged her by letting her print out pamphlets and placing them by the till with a donation box and some badges.

Hermione walked past Madam Rowle, who was appearing more and more as though she was on the last thread of her life with each passing year. She didn't even glance in the older woman's direction, although she did feel a pang of regret at their changed interactions. Horrible woman. Affecting the sincerest expression she could muster, she turned to face her in a split second, impulsive decision.

"Madam Rowle, I was wondering if I could interest you in joining S.P.E.W. —The Society for the Protection of Elfish Welfare."

The woman seemed deeply perturbed, and quickly left the shop without speaking a single word. "Hag." Hermione muttered, rolling her eyes, a smile creeping across her mouth. Simply to make sure the woman had a worse day than she was already having, being approached by a mudblood, she picked up the text that she'd been intent on carrying. It was a rare transfiguration text. Very difficult to find. A very tedious read, she'd been told by McGonagall, but even after seeing the price Hermione was determined Madam Rowle wouldn't get her hands on it. After the purchase she might be a hundred Galleons, and almost her entire year's worth of allowance, poorer, but if it grated on the woman at all then it would all be worth it.

She saw Mr Malfoy walk past the aisle, and her voice dripped in sarcasm this time as she called out after him.

"Mr Malfoy? Are you interested in joining S.P.E.W.? Support the protection of elves? Dobby gives such a glowing testimonial of what it was like to work in your service…"

She waved one of the S.P.E.W. buttons at him.

Lucius Malfoy rolled his eyes, dropped a couple Galleons in the box on the counter and took the button from her as though he may contaminate himself by touching it. Dropping it in his coin purse, he smirked at the speechless girl in front of him, who stuttered looking for something to say.

He was satisfied that he'd done something so deeply out of character she would wonder what it meant for the rest of the week. The answer was, of course, that he was bored and had so much gold he could empty the coin purse in a gutter and feel absolutely no loss.

"Have a good day, Miss Granger."

* * *

July, 1995

She saw Mr Malfoy walk into the store. He looked like he hadn't slept in weeks, which she supposed served him right for joining up with a murdering maniac a second time.

She stood up from her corner and walked towards him, at first thinking very little of it. He was someone she'd talked with far too many times in this particular bookshop, owing primarily to the fact that for all intents and purposes she'd taken up residency in it. He was a reasonably good acquaintance, someone who'd helped her out more than once. He was also a Death Eater.

"Good afternoon, Miss Granger." he said, plunking the books down on the shelf without a second glance.

"Mr. Malfoy," Hermione said, she felt nervous, unsure exactly how she was going to continue with the conversation.

"You were in the graveyard." she stated, surprised to note that she had his full attention. His eyes flickered around the area, before he nodded once, turning away, back to the bookshelf.

"Why?" she asked, completely baffled. Somehow, she'd made her peace with the fact that he wasn't a Death Eater, nearly even convinced herself he might just actually have been imperioed during the first war. She'd built up some sort of fictional character in her mind of him, one with integrity and compassion, only to have it all dashed with Harry's statement.

"I value my continued survival," he turned towards her again, "I suggest if you value yours you leave the country before the term starts."

Hermione snorted, "There's no way."

"Then get your parents out." he stated, turning towards her. His voice carried a clear warning. There were already discussions happening in the manor surrounding the best way to flush out Harry Potter, more than one had included the Granger girl and her parents. They were not endings he wished for anyone, even unnamed muggles he'd witnessed in conversation with Arthur Weasley, once upon a time.

Hearing the jingling bells on the door and seeing an unknown walking in, Hermione cast one last glance towards him. "All the best then, in your effort at continued survival." she said, with the hint of a sarcastic smile.

He let out a huff of air, which she interpreted as a laugh. Shaking his head at the girl, he replied, "To you as well, Miss Granger."

* * *

Hermione met his eyes in the department of mysteries. She looked poised and ready to die for her cause, and he just wanted to shake her out of her idealism. On his way to Azkaban, he decided at least she'd picked a cause she couldn't regret. Fighting for the right to exist seemed like something that wouldn't lose it's appeal, unlike following a madman on a power trip because he told you you were special.

He hoped Draco wouldn't be forced to pick the same cause he had, because at the end of the day it wasn't worth going to Azkaban over. It certainly wasn't worth dying for. It struck him that not that a whole lot was.

* * *

July, 1996

It wasn't really safe to go to Diagon Alley alone anymore. The Order had made that quite clear to her, but she couldn't help make her way to Flourish and Blotts before they collected her to hide away at Grimmauld place the rest of the summer.

She greeted Mr Flourish with a smile and listened to him as he caught her up on all of the happenings of the bookshop. After a while, she gravitated towards the charms section, pulling out a book at random. It wasn't really about reading today, it was about sitting in her cherished little corner apart from the world.

She was a little surprised to see Draco sitting there, instinctively, she glanced across the shop in search of his father. "Hi Granger." he said, barely looking up from his own book. He wasn't reading though, she was certain of that.

"Hi Malfoy." she answered, taking her own seat. "You look absolutely ill." she stated.

"Three guesses why." he muttered.

"Seriously, are you alright?" she asked again.

"No. Would you be?" he asked. She shook her head.

"I'm sorry about your father." she said, her voice quiet.

"Not a lot of people have actually meant that." Draco muttered.

Hermione pondered the statement for a moment, she supposed many people were quite relieved to see Lucius Malfoy locked away. She supposed she ought to have been one of them. She didn't say anything else, simply picked up her book. They weren't friends, she'd said her bit. Besides, Draco looked like he could use some quiet time.

When she went home, she desperately tried to persuade her parents to go into hiding. It was frustrating, they took the entire thing as something of a joke, outright refusing to believe they were in any serious danger. Poor Hermione, with her head always stuck in her books. Naive, and over-exaggerating the problem. In tears, she went to her room and stayed there for the night. She couldn't lose her Mum and Dad. She wouldn't. She would find something to do.

* * *

Back to school, life in the castle was becoming unbearable, she was forced to watch Ron see how deep he could stick his tongue down his girlfriend's throat. She felt her heart rip to pieces more each time. Harry was delving into some sort of obsession with Draco Malfoy, convinced the kid was a Death Eater. There was something about Draco being a Death Eater that didn't sit quite right with her.

Maybe it was because of the inordinate amount of time she'd spent with him between second and third year, then they bizarre truce continuing years after in the bookshop. They'd been almost friends, except for the fact that they were decidedly not. She kinda thought, liked to think, that in some alternate universe they might have been. Friends, that is.

Anyways, the idea of him being a Death Eater was just wrong. It chilled her to the core and left her feeling like there was nothing right in the world anymore. This boy was her classmate, someone she interacted with on a daily basis, someone with whom she'd had to work with on projects, someone she'd had conversations. Hell, he was even someone she danced with. Once. In an awkward dance near the end of the Yule ball. While that last was an experience she hoped never to repeat, it made the prospect of the boy joining a madman set to exterminate her and her kind somehow even bleaker.

* * *

July, 1997

Without a doubt, her sixth year at Hogwarts had been the worst year of her life. She was grateful it was over, and grateful to be home.

If it hadn't been safe for her the summer before to wander through Diagon Alley on her own, she knew there was no possible way it was safe this year, with them closer to war than ever. She decided to risk it though, and apparated to the Leaky Cauldron, going through the passageway and making a straight line for the bookshop. Inside, Mr Flourish greeted her as he always did, but a frown crossed his face.

"Are you sure it's quite safe for you to be here, Miss Granger?"

Hermione sighed, taking a longing look at her table. He was right, she should apparate home before getting herself into trouble.

"I'm sorry about the Malfoys." Mr Flourish said, after making a note to check that the store was empty.

Hermione blinked at him, not quite understanding what he was getting at. It was a rare thing, for her not to understand.

"You seemed to be on decent terms with them."

"All things considered, I'm quite sure that wasn't the case."

She couldn't help the bitter smile across her face. That they couldn't avoid each other in London's only magical bookstore was a fact, and so they learned to tolerate each other's presence. Only not, because two of them were now part of a group determined to destroy muggle-borns, while she was determined not to be eliminated from magical Britain, or eliminated at all, as it was.

She looked back on their interactions and looked for the spark of hatred which had to have been present. Disdain, she could easily find in Lucius Malfoy. The kind of disdain a person held for a pest in their home. In Draco, she couldn't even quite picture that, only recall the words he parroted back at her. Yet, it had to have been there. She'd just missed it, beneath their daily routine of avoiding eye contact or awkwardly grimacing when they failed.

Actually, scrap that, she knew neither of them truly hated her. Malfoy Sr had helped her, once, at the world cup. Draco was a spoiled, mean little boy—not a true fanatic. She didn't want them to be the people the marks on their arm would paint them out to be. She didn't want anyone she knew to be what those marks painted them to be. It was one thing to meet the infamous men and women who'd been locked away in Azkaban before her birth on a battlefield. The classic, unhinged monsters of fiction. It was quite another thing to meet the disagreeable man who'd taught her all she knew about potions. To face the girl who used to work for Madam Malkin's', or the wizard who took care of magical maintenance in the Alley.

She moved forward to hug Mr Flourish. "Stay safe." she said, blinking back tears.

"You too, Hermione." he replied. It was the first time she noticed how much he'd aged since she first started coming to the store when she was twelve, this man who'd been quietly supporting her for years. He looked old when she first started spending time here, now he looked positively ancient. His shuffle had gotten slower, and his hunch had gotten more pronounced. Tears started to form in her eyes and she prayed this wasn't the last time she would say goodbye to the man who'd been the only grandfather she'd known.

She saw the S.P.E.W. Galleon container next to her leaflets on the counter. She walked over to them, picking one up and glancing over it. It felt like a lifetime ago that she'd drafted it.

A couple of ministry officials walked into the shop, glancing disapprovingly over at Hermione. She was drawn out of her nostalgia quickly enough, and with one last nervous smile towards Mr Flourish and another quiet goodbye, she exited and apparated home. Seeing the Alley as deserted as it was, people hastening through the street, looking over their shoulder, it made the war even more real than it already was. It made it all the more real that she wouldn't be going back to school the next year.

* * *

June, 1998

Hermione stood in the Alley crying. She stood in front of what was now her shop, and as much as she wanted to see opportunity, all she could see was loss. The sign was badly burnt, and the windows had been shattered. A quick reparo wouldn't go far to restore it back to its former glory, Cursed fire and dark spells weren't that easily undone.

Mr Flourish was taken in for questioning in February 1998 by the Ministry of Magic for suspected treason and affiliation with the Order of the Phoenix. He was accused of distributing regime damaging materials, and no matter how much she searched, Hermione couldn't uncover what those supposed 'regime damaging' materials could be. Stepping forward, she pushed the door back and watched it fall into the store. Letting out a loud exhale, she moved forward and began picking up papers off of the floor.

Mr Flourish died in Ministry custody on April 27th, 1998. Starved and half frozen in Azkaban prison, the old man hardly stood a chance, but it was pneumonia which finally claimed his life, less than a week before the war was officially ended. Tears stained the papers she was holding, but she just kept picking them up. Stacking them to sort at a later time, clearing a path for herself in the ransacked store. Her eyes glanced over to the section that had once been devoted to muggle studies. There was nothing left, only charcoal and a scalded sign. She leaned over to pick up that year's 'muggle studies' textbook.

"Damn you" she screamed, hurling it at a wall. At that point, the papers were dropped and she dropped with them. "Damn you, Tom Riddle."

Choking on a sob, she sat back and pulled her legs to her chest. There were so many memories tied to this place, good and bad she wanted to hold onto them all. Harry and Ron said it wasn't healthy. They urged her to go back to Hogwarts rather than accept her honorary NEWTs. They were right of course, but for once in her life she didn't give a damn if the sun refused to rise because she, Hermione Granger, didn't want to go back to school.

"Granger," a familiar voice called out, accompanied with a loud knock on what remained of the doorway.

"Come in, George." she said, wiping her tears and trying to pull herself together.

"I know," he said, pulling her into a hug, "believe me, I understand."

She could feel George shaking against her, and she knew he'd succumbed to tears along with her.

"Just...what does one even do with this?" She asked, waving her hand at the shop.

"We fix one thing at a time...do our best to remember the good." George said, trying to sound less defeated than he felt.

"I never thought he'd leave this to me." Hermione said, "I thought he'd have family...someone."

George looked around, picking up the papers Hermione dropped earlier and stacking them properly. Mr Flourish was so proud of little Hermione, he was happy to boast of her to anyone who would listen as though she was his own grand-daughter. Hanging up the S.P.E.W. posters unashamedly, telling anyone who would listen just how many OWLs she'd gotten, and about how talented she was at transfigurations. It might surprise her, but not George.

"You were family to him, I think, Hermione." George said, squeezing her arm another time before glancing back down the Alley to his own shop, which hardly looked better than her own. "I have my own disaster to take care of." he said, gesturing towards it, "Apparently things get better with time..." he said, "some shit about time heals all wounds."

Hermione glanced down at the scar on her arm, one which she was told she would carry for the rest of her life, and forced a smile.

"I'll see you around, George."


	2. After the War

_**July, 1999**_

"Hey, Granger." Draco said, looking uncomfortable as he walked into the crowded shop.

"Hi Draco." she responded, continuing to tidy the section that some kids had managed to make a mess of. She tried to conceal her surprise.

She hadn't seen him since his father's trial the year before, where she testified somewhat in his favour. She'd mentioned the World Cup, and left out the fact that he'd been rather eager to turn them over to Voldemort when they were brought to the manor...There was already enough damning testimonies stacked against him without hers added to the pile.

Five years in Azkaban was the sentence that had been pronounced. It was a lot less than she'd expected, considering the list of crimes he was accused and found guilty of. She wondered how many people he'd had to pay off. Despite five years sounding like barely more than a slap on the wrist, she wasn't certain, in all honesty, that he would survive his time in Azkaban. What was worse was even if he did, she had no doubt he would be coming out on the other end a deeply altered man.

Azkaban was a medieval establishment, infringing every human right she could list. Of course, no one seemed to care what a shopkeeper had to say about it, even if she did help save the wizarding world. She was wasting so much talent, people seemed eager to tell her. She usually replied in a dignified manner, but once in awhile she slipped up and told them just where they could shove their advice.

Narcissa had publicly distanced herself from Lucius after her own acquittal, trying to make it seem like she was the poor society wife who'd been under her husband's control. Hermione was fairly certain that it was a contributing factor of his sentence; the woman had taken any sympathy the public might direct towards the Malfoy family for her heroic lie to Voldemort and made it her own. There were one too many interviews with Rita Skeeter on the subject for Hermione to find it believable. Nonetheless, she supposed Draco must be glad to have at least one parent not completely vilified by the public.

"I heard you took over this place." he said, looking around at what she'd done. He closed his eyes, some sort of apology on his lips, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. What was there to say? It didn't seem like 'I am sorry' could even begin to cover it. The last time he'd seen her, her and her friends had saved him from certain death, even knowing he'd been chasing down the trio to hand them over to Voldemort. Before that, he'd watched her be tortured on his floor, and he hadn't done a thing. What really kept him from making his apology though was that he knew, given what had been at stake, that he would make the same choices all over again.

He walked over to the stairs, stepping on the bottom one only to find himself being lifted by the step. If he'd taken muggle studies, or had ever ventured into a muggle shopping mall, he would have recognized where she'd gotten her inspiration. At the top, there were a couple tables surrounded by chairs, and a few thinly stocked bookshelves of rather thoroughly used books.

"What is this?" he asked.

Hermione sighed. After glancing over to the counter, checking no one was waiting for help, she stepped onto the stairs herself.

"It's _supposed_ to be a public library...muggles have them. You borrow books, then bring them back. Or you can sit here and browse through them…"

"I like it." Draco said, glancing around.

She snorted. "No one else does." with another sigh, she pulled out one of the books, putting it down on the table and leafing through it. "There aren't enough books yet to draw the more studious crowd - and the subjects represented are hardly light enough for anyone else. Basically, it's just my own collection. And even that's a lot smaller than it used to be...I had to get rid of a lot of them during the war."

"Right." he answered, falling back into awkward silence.

"What brings you to Diagon Alley?" she asked.

"I need to find a birthday present for Astoria Greengrass." he said, cringing slightly at the thought.

"A book?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

"No, I was thinking more along the lines of a doll. What does one even buy for a _child_?"

"Isn't Greengrass like...sixteen?"

"Yup." he answered, rolling his eyes.

They stood there in silence one more time. Hermione flipped through the pages of the book on the table once more, trying to occupy herself in the awkward silence. "Did you go back to Hogwarts last year?" she asked.

It was Draco's turn to snort. "No, I don't hate myself that much...it's bad enough just walking in the Alley. I don't even want to imagine what school would have been like - between the Professors looking for reasons to expel me, and everyone else…"

"I'm hardly going to lecture you on the importance of going back to school." Hermione said, gesturing to the shop. "What brought you in?"

"It was always a refuge here...until, well...but when we were younger."

"Hmmm...that's why I wanted to make a library, you know. Mr Flourish made that spot for us in the shop, it would be nice to pass it along. I guess no one needs the hiding place these days."

"He used to bring us hot cocoa." Draco mentioned, smiling at the memory of the man. "You should sell some... and coffee, and tea…"

"Yeah, it might be a better business plan. It's just not the same, you know?"

Draco pulled out a chair and sat, grabbing a book off of the shelf. "By the time you're in your late hundreds, I'm sure you'll find a miserable, lonely kid or two that doesn't quite fit in anywhere to cheer up with cocoa."

She smiled, pulling out her own chair. "I suppose I can adopt stray kneazles in the meantime."

"And put in a coffee shop," he said, gesturing towards a corner, "right there. Old Mr Flourish would never have begrudged you making a profit. I swear, some of his books were so bloody overpriced..."

"I'll think about it."

Hermione looked down at the shop, thinking too much. Small things were better now, the house elf and the man affected by Lycanthropy she employed were proof of that. The initial backlash she'd received for hiring them had faded, and recently, Madam Malkin had followed suit, hiring a house elf of her own who'd been seeking employment. She liked to think that by the time she had children and sent them to Hogwarts, they and their class wouldn't talk about how _liberal_ and how _progressive_ she was for hiring them, that it would be normal to see muggle-borns in the Ministry for Magic, in well paid positions, and that people wouldn't feel the need to commend them for being muggle born _and_ somehow still magical.

Draco stayed a little while longer, and they caught up on the past year, steering clear of any topic too close to any unpleasant memories. It was almost nice to see him again, the more amicable moments of their acquaintance being at the forefront of her mind rather than the worst. He complained about Astoria Greengrass, how the girl followed him and how his mother thought it was just precious. She laughed, and complained about Madam Rowle, who had only come into her shop once, to let her know she would never be back.

When he left a while later, she sat down, smiling to herself. Things hadn't really changed, but they were going to. The Wizarding world would heal, and she would heal, and Draco, and George. Letting out a sigh, she stood up while she ran her hands through her hair, pulling it back into a loose bun. She walked the few feet over to where Draco had gestured, beginning to clear out the area. She didn't _actually_ need time to think about it, the coffee shop was a brilliant idea.

 **Thanks for reading! I think this ties up some loose ends...hopefully without seeming too forced.**

 **I'd love to hear what you think, and constructive criticism is always appreciated :)**


	3. Giving Astoria a Doll

**I really had no intention of continuing this...but I haven't been able to stop thinking about how this would play out since D _on't Trust the Silver Eyes_ left a review...**

 **When I wrote the first two chapters, I really wasn't thinking of any pairings. I'm still not. Feel free to interpret however you will!**

 **Thanks again to D** ** _on't Trust the Silver Eyes_ for giving me the idea to write this! :)**

 **I hope you enjoy!**

Draco was inordinately pleased with himself. It was the type of pleased with himself he hadn't felt in years, probably dating back to fourth year after crafting the 'Potter Stinks' badges and seeing them as widely used and appreciated as he did, or in fifth year when he was made part of the inquisitorial squad and was able to lord it over the other prefects. The truth was, after fifth year, everything changed. His father was chucked into Azkaban, his mother was spending a terrifying amount of time with his crazy Aunt, and suddenly he was expected to become a Death Eater and be proud of it.

Of course, things were still shit. His father was in Azkaban again, and like to die there. His mother was crying every night about the death of Bellatrix _fucking_ Lestrange, cursing his father for landing them in this position. He'd come so close, so many times, to telling her that they'd all gotten themselves into the bloody mess together. Of course, that would hardly help.

He'd gone to Diagon Alley for the first time since shortly after the war ended. Endured the stares, and the loud conversations about he should be rotting in prison with his father and somehow, through it all, managed to purchase the perfect present for Astoria Greengrass.

He looked forward to her hating it, as it was. Maybe the girl would finally leave him alone... he wasn't sure why she wouldn't stop owling him, following him around on school holidays. She didn't even say anything. Just stumbled over her words, blushing and mumbling. He couldn't stand her, she didn't even have a personality except _nice_ and _shy_.

Alone, that wouldn't be so bad, but it was the kind of niceness that couldn't possibly be sincere. She was a fake, like the rest of them. Like his poor mother, who cried to the prophet and played the manipulated wife who'd always been supportive of _muggle-borns_ behind closed doors. Like Pansy Parkinson, who'd told him in no uncertain terms, though in the kindest way she could, that she did not want to be associated with him ever again in order to protect what little was left of her reputation.

Worse than being a fake, was that even behind the sweet smiles and kind words (the ones she managed to stumble out), the girl seemed as bland as they came. He wasn't in a position to be picky if he wanted to find someone, but he was damn well sure he'd rather die alone than have to live his life with Astoria.

Which brought him to where he was now, in the drawing room of her family's mansion, handing her the gift with a certain amount of glee. She smiled shyly when she took it from him, her heart soaring at the thought that he'd bought her something separate from his mother. She thanked him, tugging at the wrapping paper. A room full of eyes fell to her, and she saw Draco's malicious little smirk.

If Narcissa, Mrs. Greengrass, Astoria or Daphne were aware of it, none of them gave any indication. The girl dutifully unwrapped the gift, blushing at the attention that was being placed on her. His glee only increased when he saw her frown, confused as to why he would buy her a child's toy. A million possibilities went through her mind, but none of them quite fit. It was as though he was _trying_ to be mean, to make her feel embarrassed. What a horrible thing to do, she thought, her eyes meeting his from across the room. She wanted to keep giving him the benefit of the doubt, but, in that moment, she could tell by the way he looked triumphant at her obvious discomfort that it was on purpose.

"Thank you, Draco." she said, putting the present next to her chair and reaching over to pour herself another cup of tea. Not even bothering to acknowledge her humiliation. It would only make it worse. Anything to keep her hands occupied, and her mouth from needing to form words, she took a sip of the hot beverage.

Did he think she was stupid, that what he was trying to do would soar over her head? Or that she'd break down into tears in sitting room? She wasn't angry, she realized, only disappointed that she'd been wrong about him.

If he wanted to be miserable, malicious, and petty, he could do so on his own. She wasn't going to have her heart damaged further by him, she'd gotten the message, loud and clear. Still, he'd gotten her out of more than one uncomfortable situation with the Carrows, and he'd been such a wonderful friend to Daphne. Seeing the glare her sister was throwing his way, she resolved to make sure her sister didn't sever ties over this. Despite the sting of rejection she was feeling, she knew it must be lonely to be Draco Malfoy. No one should be lonely.

* * *

"Well," Narcissa said, "the girls _are_ sweet, but they have decidedly scandalous views on Mudbloods… I think you made the right decision nipping poor little Astoria's interest in the bud. I can only imagine the type of loose morals she would want to raise your children with."

It was said in such a motherly, comforting tone that Draco couldn't help feel his stomach turn. His mother thought _that_ was why… he hoped Astoria didn't…

His earlier feeling of triumph soured the more he pictured her face when she poured that second cup of tea. Merlin, Draco thought, he'd really acted like an ass.


End file.
